


Sky of Dragons

by BoredRavenvlaw620



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dragons, F/M, High Fantasy AU, Magical Realm, Princess Hermione, Romance, Sir Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredRavenvlaw620/pseuds/BoredRavenvlaw620
Summary: Life as a king’s knight is a pretty cushy affair, until a neighboring kingdom introduces dragons into their army. Maybe it’s time to get out. Written for the In Another Life Fest.





	Sky of Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> A million thank yous, all the cookies, and the most decadent wine to my incredible beta's, HeartOfAspen and TheMourningMadam. These ladies are a force of nature! I cannot accurately express my gratitude for their help and support.

* * *

  **Sky of Dragons**

This is the story of how a knight in the kingdom of Slytherin came to fall in love with a warrior princess from the kingdom of Gryffindor.

It all started, as fate would have it, once upon a time. In the land of Hogwortia, a small portion of The Realm, two kingdoms had once stood proud, but dark magic and subterfuge had driven a wedge between them and now they stood in opposition; one kingdom wasting away under the rule of a malevolent king while the other thrived.

Sir Draco came into his knighthood by birthright. His father and his father’s father before him had worn the crest of the great kingdom of Slytherin. Successful in their pursuits and invaluable in their counsel, the house of Malfoy prospered.

Quest upon noble quest was undertaken. Adversarial lands were conquered and neighboring kingdoms had been allied under the fair rule of King Salazar. The people were happy, the fields bountiful, and the noble knights hailed as heroes. But it was for naught, as King Salazar was usurped by the vicious King Thomas of Marvolo.

King Thomas sought not for peace, but for power. Power that came at great cost of life and resources for the kingdom. He hid away in the depths of the castle, exploring dark and ancient spells… spells that denuded magic from the earth and rendered his soul a mere whisper of its former presence. The people of his kingdom cowered in fear of the volatile ruler, helpless to protect the native magic of The Realm.

King Thomas bade his knights collect excessive taxes from the people, imprisoning those who could not pay. A far worse fate came to those who attempted to rise against him. He sent them forth to conquer kingdoms with which theirs had no quarrel, simply to lay waste to the bounty seized.

The times were troubled. Sir Draco, too, was troubled as he attempted to seek opportunities for good over evil in these most untenable of circumstances, but he was beholden to the rule of King Thomas as a knight of court and the last son of House Malfoy. Subjugation of the king’s decrees would not go without notice.

“Sir Draco.” King Thomas sat idly on this throne, swathed in black dragon leather and twirling a jeweled scepter betwixt his spindly fingers. “What is the status of the Gryffindor campaign.”

The kingdom of Gryffindor had been a powerful ally to Slytherin during King Salazar’s reign. But King Thomas, fooled by pride and seduced by magic and power, had suffered only failure at each attempt to overthrow them. Even with the death of King Albus, the kingdom of Gryffindor remained strong, united in purpose and blessed by the magic of The Realm beyond that of Thomas’s understanding.

“They are currently sheltered in on all sides by mountains, my liege.”

“Mountains?” This puzzled King Thomas as the kingdom of Gryffindor was not historically located within the mountains. Near them, perhaps, but not within.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The title tasted like ash on Draco’s tongue, “The peaks have only just been discovered. We suspect magic is at play.”

“You suspect?” King Thomas spoke quietly, a warning to those in his keep. “You suspect?” His voice rose incredulously as he adjusted his posture, sitting bolt upright on his throne. A small flick of his wrist holding the scepter, and Sir Draco felt himself being pulled closer to the unhinged monarch. He started in a whisper, “There is nothing to suspect, Sir Draco. Magic is most certainly at play,” his voice rose steadily, “for Queen McGonagall sits on the throne and she wears the Diadem of Ravenclaw. You will bring me the diadem and you will deliver the kingdom of Gryffindor to my feet! I will have their magic!” He finished at a roar, his usually pale face twisted and reddened.

King Thomas threw himself back onto the seat of the throne as Sir Draco was released from the scepter’s hold.

Draco allowed his lungs one deep breath before bowing low and replying, “It will be done.”

King Thomas dismissed him with a sneer and disaffected wave of his hand. Turning, Draco hurried from the cold throne room.

* * *

Meanwhile, high in the newly risen Gryffindorian Mountains, night fell. The silhouette of Princess Hermione faded into the enveloping darkness as she sat atop the highest peak, perched precariously on a rocky outcropping; the stars, constant and sure, blinked merrily over the kingdom. The crisp air of new night filled her lungs as she sought peace in the quiet, in the unknown of what the night beheld. She did not stir as a familiar scent carried on the breeze tickled her awareness.

“You tromp like a troll, you know?” Hermione grinned, never taking her eyes off the blackened horizon.

“I think you’re confusing me with Ronald, but I wasn’t exactly trying to sneak up on you.” Her visitor shrugged as he settled beside her.

Hermione gave a soft laugh, but her eyes remained fixed on the far-off darkness.

“Any revelations yet?”

“I don’t know, Charlie,” she sighed. “The problems seem insurmountable now. But we’ve got through before, so I expect we’ll do the same now.”

They sat in silence for a time, watching the sky, the stars... breathing in the aroma of the night breeze. The Realm, as always, extended a measure of peace and protection to those who sought respite. The Realm would provide, _had_ provided before, as with the mountains that rose around their kingdom in its time of peril.

It was faint, the first one, just a glint of a snidget’s eye. The others that followed, more sure, more evident, bright streaks of light, illuminating the sky and falling toward earth. They seemed to come from the stars themselves. Hermione and Charlie watched, silent lest they break the spell, as the essence of the lights descended behind the mountain. Their identity still unknown, but their purpose unmistakeable; this would be the key to Gryffindor’s victory over the evil King Thomas.

As the aura of the sky faded, Charlie turned to Hermione. “What do you think they were?”

“I don’t know.” Her face was resplendent with glee. “Let’s go find out. Race you!” With that, she bounded down the mountain side, her feet sure and her heart light as she felt the magic of The Realm guide her, Charlie following close behind.

* * *

Hermione and Charlie reached the bottom of the mountain, The Realm urging them to expediency.

“Where do you think they landed?” Charlie panted, his hands braced on his thighs to catch his breath.

“It looked like the back of the mountain. Do you think it safe to venture to that side?”

“I’d wager it safer in the dark than by the light of day. Do you want to get Harry and Ron, perhaps even Hagrid, to accompany? I wouldn’t wish harm to come to our esteemed Princess,” Charlie snickered.

“Very funny,” she answered dryly, rolling her eyes for effect.

Charlie simply chuckled some more, while Hermione swatted at his shoulder.

“Come on!” she cried as she grabbed his hand and dragged him along to find Harry and Ron.

* * *

The clang of steel rang through the air, punctuated by grunts and shouts as Hermione and Charlie approached the training arena. Sir Harry of the house of Potter and Sir Ronald of the house of Weasley, brave knights of Gryffindor, were engaged in a arduous show of swordsmanship.

“Take that you son of a hamster!” Harry shouted as he swung his sword toward his opponent.

“Oh, I see. That’s how it’s going to be,” Ron retorted as he parried the blow. “You think you can distract me with your taunts? I unclog my nose in your direction!” he sang as he lunged at Harry.

Harry huffed out a tired breath as he deflected Ron’s advance. “Yes, that’s how it’s going to be. Now prepare yourself, for I shall taunt you a second time!”

Charlie snorted behind his hand. Hermione shook her head at the knights’ _valiant_ efforts at wit. “Boys!”

They both stopped, swords held high, huge grins on their faces as they turned to see Hermione in the entryway. “Are you gentlemen quite done with your little _demonstration_?”

Harry winked. “You must admit, our footwork is impeccable.”

“Yes,” Ron agreed. “We’re quite formidable.”

Hermione groaned and grabbed a sword from the wall, taking up a fighting stance. Harry and Ron stood opposite, and their faces dropped as they lowered their weapons.

“Come on Hermione,” Ron whined, “We’re tough and able, but not…”

“Indefatigable?” Hermione teased, lowering her sword to hide her laughter.

They returned the weapons to their rests and Harry threw his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “No, certainly not indefatigable, but what brings you here this evening?”

“Something’s happened… The Realm has provided.”

“Let’s go then!” Ron exclaimed.

“We should stop at the stables and collect Hagrid,” Harry added quickly, “for protection.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Protection, huh?” he repeated, his voice bursting with amusement. “Didn't know the stable hand played guard to two of Gryffindor’s finest?”

Ron opened his mouth to counter, but was cut off by Hermione, “Have at each other later. Let’s go!”

They found Hagrid seated against the back of the last stall with his dog and an orphaned unicorn foal; the soft melody from his flute having lulled both to sleep. As they filed into the small space, Hagrid held a finger to his lips and rose carefully. The golden foal wiggled closer to the lightly snoring hound.

Smiling at the sleeping duo as he lumbered to his feet, Hagrid whispered, “Good evening, Princess. What can I do for you on this fine night?”

Hermione regarded the large man warmly. “We wish you to join us on a search.”

He pulled the stall door closed. “What do you hope to find?”

“We’re afraid that remains to be seen.” Charlie shrugged as he swatted Ron’s hand away from a cage filled with doxies. Ron rubbed his hand and shot Charlie a glare while Harry snickered at the brothers.

Hermione beamed. “There has been a gift from The Realm.”

“Blimey, let's get along then!” Hagrid called, already halfway down the stable corridor. The rest of the search party trotted eagerly after him.

* * *

They found a narrow cleft in the rock face. Charlie ducked through first, at his own insistence, calling to the others as he reached the end. Hagrid went last, sidestepping to accommodate his girth.

Upon emerging in the new valley, they were immediately engulfed in a wet, stifling heat. They traversed the uncharted territory, alert for any sign of The Realm’s offering.

Charlie squinted into the dark, “Is there something strange about that part of the mountain?” He pointed indicating an area darker than the rest.

“There’s something strange about this whole thing,” Ron complained. Harry swatted Ron on the back of the head. Hermione shot him a baleful glare before stepping forward to explore.

“What’s there?” she whispered, and as if calling forth the magic of The Realm the rocks began to glow, illuminating the entrance to a cave.  

Feeling the draw of magic, the group tentatively stepped through the opening. The heat increased, waves shimmering off the cavern walls. Wisps of light teased their vision as it danced deeper into the abyss, urging them onward; Hermione led the processional.

Suddenly, she stopped, looking over her shoulder, her face glowing in eager anticipation, she waved the others forward. Nestled carefully within the rocks, sat five large eggs, unassuming, but radiant with heat.

Ron reached out to touch the nearest one when Hermione slapped his hand away.

“Why is everyone slapping me today?” Ron whinged.

“We don’t know what they are,” Hermione admonished with a huff. “Perhaps if you had a better sense of self-preservation you wouldn’t get slapped.”

Ron rolled his eyes while Hermione turned her attention back to the eggs. “Charlie, Hagrid, reinforce the area around each egg with more stones.” Then she turned to Harry and Ron. “Gentlemen, you’re being called to guard duty.”

The mystery of what The Realm provided would hopefully reveal itself soon, but for now, it would be protected by two brave knights of Gryffindor.

* * *

Buckbeak was a good hippogriff: he kept himself preened, his talons sharp, but he was a feisty mount.

Sir Draco found his feet carrying him to the stables. He faltered briefly at the door, the memory of his first encounter with the great, winged beast never far from his mind. Shaking his head, Draco squared his shoulders; hippogriffs were proud, but so was he.

Draco could hear commotion in the stalls which lined the stable’s long corridor. Both noise and movement, however, were slowly drowned out as anxiety poured off him. _Cursed beast, I will conquer you this day._

A deep breath and several careful footfalls later, he stood before Buckbeak’s stall. Large avian eyes surveyed Draco. Keeping his own stormcloud orbs on Buckbeak’s, Draco did something completely out of character for him - he bowed, humbling himself out of respect for the wonder and power that stood before him.

Buckbeak considered the knight before him, taking his time. Just as Draco's muscles began to strain in rebellion, the beast lowered his head and forelimb in an answering bow.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief and stood. Seeming amused, Buckbeak gave a soft whistle before stepping forward and bumping the side of Draco's head with his beak.

“I knew you two’d hit it off eventually,” came an amused voice from behind him.

Draco turned, now being fully nuzzled by the fierce, feathered creature, to find Sir Theodore of the house of Nott red with suppressed laughter.

“I’m so glad you find humor in my imminent demise, Sir Theo.”

Theo chuckled, bowing his head just so toward Buckbeak. Buckbeak returned the gesture with a minute bow of his own, and Draco was certain he saw a twinkle of delight in the creature’s fathomless eyes.

Theo approached casually, scratching Buckbeak at the side of his neck. “Morning, Bucky! You giving our ole boy here a little scare this morning?”

Draco held back a retort, lest he find himself on the wrong end of Buckbeak’s talons. The powerful animal trilled at Theo as the knight inspected the hippogriff’s flanks and wings.

Busy in his assessment of Buckbeak’s fitness, Theo idly queried, “Need a mount for him?”

“If you please,” Draco answered formally.

Theo chuckled once more. “He’s so formal and stiff, isn’t he, Bucky?”

Buckbeak warbled in agreement.

Slinging an ornate saddle over the beast’s back, Theo secured the straps below. “Care for some company on your ride?”

“I’m surveying the new mountain range to the east. You’re welcome to join me,” Draco offered.

Theo grinned, rushing off to prepare his own mount, Starclaw.

* * *

The air was crisp and cool as the two knights soared through the sky. Buckbeak glided effortlessly; Draco loosed his hold on his reins and held his arms wide, trusting in the power and strength below him. Through the purple clouds of dusk, he could see crags emerging. Slowing Buckbeak with an easy pressure, he began a descent toward the outer mountainside. They landed on an outcropping only meters from the top rim, their counterparts landing gracefully beside them.

“Are we climbing to the top?” Theo asked, glancing warily at the drop behind them.

“Afraid so,” Draco grimaced. “But it looks as if there’s a rough trail.” He pointed to a series of stones that seemed to lead toward the ridgeline.

Theo gestured grandly. “Lead the way.”

Draco shook his head at Theo’s playful nature, but nonetheless was glad to have a friend along. Theo bade the hippogriffs to hunt and return two hours hence.

The path was treacherous; small bits of detritus fell from the sides as they ascended the mountain. Draco felt a light frizzle of static as he breached the top and came to stand, surveying the landscape below - or what he could see of it in the fading light.

Even at this hour and with the sun sinking behind the peaks, the verdant hues of the Kingdom of Gryffindor glowed ethereal. From this height he could not make out the inhabitants, but the glow of hearths and ribbons of smoke from the thatched roofs below spoke of warmth, home, prosperity... a vision he had seen go cold in the kingdom of Slytherin. Nestled into the side of the opposite mountain, sat the palace - what the Gryffindorians called a palace. It seemed more an extension of the mountain itself, a symbiosis of the earth and its inhabitants.

Draco tuned his ears for any sound rising from the valley below, but the whisper of the wind and the quiet of the sky were all that was to be heard as the rich night fell around them and the stars blanketed the heavens.

* * *

“Did you see that?” Theo pointed to the sky at a streak of light, as if a star had fallen to earth on the back side of the opposite ridge.

They watched silently as four more stars followed suit.

“Do the mountains look odd to you on that side?” Draco asked, indicating the far side of the valley.

“It’s almost as if there is another valley,” Theo considered. “Hard to tell in this light though.”

“We’ll return with reinforcements.”

With one last look at the kingdom of Gryffindor and the surrounding mountain range, Draco and Theo carefully made their way down the mountain where Buckbeak and Starclaw were waiting to return to Slytherin.

* * *

“Where are you going, young lady?”

Hermione’s feet caught on the stones as her body pitched forward. She righted her posture and turned slowly, her face set into an expression of serene innocence. “Only to meet with Sirs Harry and Ronald.”

Lips pursed, Queen Minerva hummed, her eyebrows raising before she waved her rebellious Princess off to her follies. Curtseying quickly, Hermione was sure to turn before the wide grin could break across her face.

The mouth of the cave was barely visible in the daylight. Although safely ensconced in the new valley and only accessible through a hidden pass, The Realm had made finding the cave an event.

Hermione and her small entourage quietly approached the eggs.

“What do you think they are?” asked Charlie, tentatively running a finger over the marbled lines of the shell.

“Could be great bloody chickens for all we know,” Ron trembled, remembering his run in with the Chicken of Bristol.

A strangled choking sound came from Harry, while Hermione bit her bottom lip. Ron’s narrowed glare was the final straw to their composure, and they both broke down into giggles.

“Yes, ha bloody ha,” Ron grumbled.

Harry slapped him on the back good-naturedly; Hermione shrugged with a placating smile.

“Quiet, you three!” Hagrid called, crouching over the last egg. “This one is about to hatch!”

Hermione, Charlie, Harry, and Ron ran to where Hagrid was stooped. The group watched in silent awe as the shell wriggled and cracked. Piece by piece, the shell fell away to reveal…

“A lizard?” Ron asked.

The lizard in question seemed to shoot Ron a disgusted glare before burping a small plume of fire.

“That’s no lizard,” Hagrid beamed his voice full of contagious awe. “It’s a dragon!”

The small dragon unfurled its wings and one testing shake later, was being comfortably cuddled by Hagrid. Hagrid’s massive build dwarfed the reptile, and another belch from the fledgling beast caught Hagrid's beard alight.

“Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!” Hagrid cooed, swiftly patting at himself to smother his flaming whiskers.

Charlie grinned. “Well, I guess we have our answer. The Realm has sent dragons. We had best get to work.”

* * *

Being a trusted knight in the King’s court, Draco was afforded a modicum of luxuries. His home was warm and fortified, his table bountiful. Maidens gathered to watch him and his fellow knights train, bestowing trinkets of good fortune before quests.

It really was a good life. He tried to suppress the guilt he felt over the sufferings of the less-fortunate in the Kingdom of Slytherin, but let the king’s council deal with the masses. Draco and his knights would handle any outside threats, and that’s just what he intended to do.

The order sat tall in their saddles, their noble hippogriffs proud and strong. Draco looked over first his right shoulder, then his left, and with a sharp jab to Buckbeak’s flanks he was airborne.

They flew in formation toward the far side of Gryffindor, the hippogriffs’ strong wings navigating easily in and out of the low clouds, while keeping a wide berth of the mountain ridges so as not to be noticed.

When Draco gave the signal, the squad descended into the forest below. Tucked safely beneath the canopy of trees, Draco reiterated assignments and set off to explore the mountains protecting the Gryffindors.

“What is it you’re looking for, Draco?” Sir Blaise complained as Draco ran his hands along the moss-covered walls of the cliff face.

“These ridges sprung up from nothing. There must be some explanation.”

The knights followed along quietly, imitating Draco’s inspection of the rocks. It was Sir Greg who found the opening, concealed behind thick vines.

Feeling the same static he had experienced on his previous mission, Draco quickly deduced that the place was protected by magic. “Crabbe, Goyle, secure the mounts and keep guard. Nott, Zabini, let’s find out what these Gryffindors have up their sleeve.”

With that, he ducked into the fissure.

The crevice ended much as it had begun, behind a swath of vines. Draco and his companions remained hidden as they observed.

They watched as the handlers put the animals through their paces. Drills and commands were shouted, praises and affection given. Most shockingly, no one was injured… or eaten.

“Let’s return and make camp,” Draco whispered.

* * *

They had set the hippogriffs loose to hunt the surrounding forest, after which they hopefully would return by morning. Meanwhile, Draco stared into the flames of their campfire.

Dragons. DRAGONS! How had the Gryffindors got dragons? How would the Slytherin forces fare against such beasts? _Perhaps engaging in battle wasn't worth it after all?_

* * *

The dragons grew at an alarming rate, reaching their full size within weeks, and becoming more forbidding with each passing day. Great plumes of fire burst forth from their mouths and nostrils with nary a warning and with potentially deadly force. It was fortunate for Hermione and her cohorts that dragons demonstrated the imprinting impulse, each dragon holding a special bond with the person most immediately present at its hatching.  

Hermione watched as the brilliant crimson reptile she had fondly called ‘Crookshanks’, soared above her.

Crookshanks circled, dipped, and flipped through the air. The mighty beast ascended straight into the sky, and when he reached a dizzying height, released a flame as scarlet as his scales before gently gliding back to the valley floor.

Hermione laughed fondly as the playful, yet fierce, dragon bumped her with its great head.

She surveyed the others. Training was going swimmingly. The advantage of having dragons in their army would be everything they needed to defeat the tyrannical reign of Thomas of Marvolo.

* * *

“Buckbeak! Where are you, you great bloody _bird_?” Draco called into the forest the next morning.

“Still no sign?” asked Theo.

“No,” Draco sighed. “Return to Slytherin with the others, but tell no one what we saw. It would do us nothing but harm to advance on Gryffindor without a proper plan.”

Theo nodded. Within moments, Draco heard the _woosh_ of wings leaving him alone in the forest.

With no other option, Draco set off on foot to find Buckbeak.

* * *

Despite being a princess, Hermione was not one fond of idle pursuits. As a future leader, she sought to be involved in all that her kingdom needed to thrive and grow. The bright morning found her in just such a task as she snuck beyond the mountain garrison in search of healing herbs and potion ingredients.

The dappled light of morning filtered through the leaves, painting the ground in a dreamy abstract patchwork. Hermione stepped lightly over the fodder of the forest floor, bending occasionally to pluck foliage and blossoms, her stockpile steadily filling her basket. As she stepped into the bright clearing, the lingering dew refracting off the borage blossoms teased her eyes with fractals of silvery blue.

Hermione knelt within the bounty and began to pluck the velvety leaves and delicate blossoms. She hummed a nameless tune as she filled her hamper. As time passed, the day became increasingly persistent, and she felt the warmth envelope her as the sun rose higher. In the distance the quiet melody of water enticed her senses.

Her basket carefully stowed to protect her cargo and her skirts artfully tied around her thighs, Hermione dipped her toes into the cool trickling stream. She waded further, the current flowing silkenly around her shins as she watched the glittering light play along the surface. Bending to dip her fingertips into the refreshing water, she was stopped by the fixed glare of large avian eyes.

Hermione rose slowly so as not to startle the beast; her heart pounded in her chest as the creature took tentative steps out of the brush and toward the bank.

She gasped. It was a hippogriff.

Steeling her nerves, Hermione bowed respectfully, her wide eyes fixed on the hippogriff’s curious stare. Her muscles began to protest the awkward posture, but she endured, as the great, winged beast considered her. Finally, with a soft trill the creature dipped its feathered head in acceptance.

Hermione slowly straightened and with measured breaths waded toward the powerful animal, her hand extended, palm up in supplication. A light nudge from a smooth beak later and Hermione found her fingers dancing through the prismatic feathers as her wild curls were nuzzled insistently.

“Aren't you a friendly boy.” She laughed as the low, contented piping of the hippogriff carried over the trickling melody of the creek. A moment later, the creature spread his powerful wings to reveal a snugly strapped saddle--a saddle adorned with the crest of Slytherin.

It was her sharp gasp that broke the spell. Sensing her unease, the hippogriff pawed the damp earth. Hermione attempted to calm her nerves at the threat of Slytherin forces so close at hand.

A commotion in the nearby brush demanded the attention of both woman and beast. Hermione peered over the feathered neck as a beleaguered knight of Slytherin burst forth.

“There you are, you great bloody chicken.”

The hippogriff tilted his head insolently at the knight and issued a soft whistle.

“So, that's how it is? You strand me in the woods all night and you don't even have the decency to look apologetic?”

The hippogriff dug at the damp earth with a hoof and craned his neck to preen at a bothersome feather.

“Oh, please, Your Majesty, take your time,” the knight snipped as he brushed leaves from his clothes. His cheeks were smudged with dirt, his white-blond hair stuck out at odd angles, and his clothes were rumpled from, presumably, a night on the forest floor. “We wouldn't want to return with you looking less than your best.”

Hermione could not help the giggle that escaped her lips, or the unnaturally loud resonance of her hand slapping over her mouth.

The disheveled knight froze. His hand slowly descended to his hip, his sword remaining in its scabbard but his posture ready to duel. “Who goes there?”

Hermione was frozen in indecision. The surrounding forest was neutral territory, but the Slytherins had begun to write their own rules. Perhaps venturing out alone had been a hasty choice? Steeling her resolve, Hermione stepped from behind the hippogriff, her shoulders squared and her chin raised proudly.

The crackle of dry leaves in the wind and the steady rushing of the stream were the only sounds as glittering amber eyes met the argent gaze of the foe knight, their shallow breaths synchronous as the silent battle raged.

The deadlock ended when Hermione felt a firm nudge to the side of her head, and shrieked. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and relief as she returned the gesture and sought comfort in the hippogriff’s soft plumage.

The knight shook his head as he stepped forward. “You, Buckbeak, are a filthy traitor.”

Hermione giggled again as she stroked the beast’s neck. “Is that your name, Buckbeak?”

The hippogriff trilled in reply then broke away from her in favor of exploring the stream.

* * *

Draco considered the woman in front of him; she was dressed simply, and had wide ocher eyes, brightly flushed cheeks, and a mane of riotous curls that danced in the breeze.

“Sir Draco Malfoy. At your service, good lady,” he spoke with a respectful bow.

Hermione returned the gesture with a curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, good sir knight.”

“What brings you to the forest this fine day, my lady?”

“Gathering herbs,” Hermione answered, but a giggle escaped her lips once again as she added, “and, obviously, winning the affections of an unruly hippogriff.”

At this declaration, Buckbeak thrust a hind leg over the water’s surface, splashing the humans standing on the bank.

Draco grumbled, wiping the droplets from his face. “Unruly indeed.”

“And what brings you to the forest?”

Draco had not often been afforded the luxury of choice in his life. His position as a knight had been bequeathed to him by birth, as was his obligation to the Kingdom of Slytherin, and by unsavory extension - King Thomas. The choice now to reveal his true quest to this beguiling beauty was not one made easy by circumstance. “Simply surveying the lands, my lady.”

Wrong answer. Her narrowed eyes and pursed lips spoke of her unfavorable reaction to this news. “I hope you have found your survey satisfactory,” she snipped, giving a perfunctory dip of her knees in a half-hearted curtsy once more. “I’ll just be on my way then.”

Her stomping footsteps rang in his ears as he watched her tear into the cover of the forest. Was she scared of him? Angry? Or was it simply his affiliation with the Kingdom of Slytherin? He tore after her.

“Wait! Wait, Princess!” The sudden silence was disconcerting. No longer did he hear the rustle of leaves and crackle of the thicket. Draco stilled. His eyes darted about, his perception fooled by the shapes and shadows of the underbrush. Tentative steps marked his forward progression, his voice but a whisper on the breeze. “Where did you go?”

His backside collided with the ground. There was a heavy weight on his abdomen and the cold sensation of well honed steel at his throat. The maiden, backlight by the sun, glowed with fury and righteousness. “Who sent you?”

Draco pressed his body as far into the ground as possible. He attempted to struggle, but was held fast as if by a spell.

“I think you know who sent me, Princess,” he goaded, an infuriating smirk on his lips.

She pressed the point of the blade more insistently; he thought he saw a flash of fear in her eyes despite her advantageous position. “Go from this place,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Tell your king to prepare for defeat should he raise arms against Gryffindor.”

And then she was gone.

The ground released its hold on Draco, but he only stared into the copse. He would go back to Slytherin, but he would not relay her message to King Thomas. Draco feared that war with Gryffindor was imminent and no amount of warning - or dragons - would sway the King from this pursuit.

When he returned to the creekside, he found Buckbeak staring at him in reproach.

“What do you want from me?” Draco lamented as he heaved himself into the saddle. “Blame the king for scaring her away.”

Buckbeak turned one imperious eye on the young knight.

Draco sighed, “Fine, fine, I’ll see what I can do. No promises though.”

Buckbeak gave a pleased trill, then burst forth into the air in a cloud of dust and feathers. Neither mount nor rider saw the curious amber eyes that followed them into the sky.

* * *

Grunts, heaving breaths, and the clang of steel on steel rang through the training grounds. At long last, Sir Draco side-stepped, spun, and with a victorious lunge forward, brought Sir Theo to halt.

“Feeling like a real man now?” Theo huffed with a grin.

Draco sheathed his blade and bent forward, hand on his knees. Suddenly, he asked, “What do you know about the Kingdom of Gryffindor?”

“Is this about the dragons?” Theo whispered.

“No. Yes… I don’t know.” Draco sighed as he righted himself and met his friend’s eyes. “What do you know about their royal family?”

“Not much, really. King Albus has been dead for years. I think the citizens elected Queen Minerva,” he shrugged.

“Do they have a princess?”

“Maybe… yeah?”

“Do you know anything about her?”

“Weird name, crazy hair… some student of the Queen’s, I think. Why so interested? Thinking about the spoils of war?” Theo teased.

Draco gave Theo a shove. “No, I think I met her after that jaunt to the forest.”

Glee lit up in Theo’s eyes. “Oh, I see. Really got in your head, did she?”

“She put a blade to my neck and told me to threaten King Thomas with defeat. I could see something in her eyes when I called her ‘princess’. Like she was scared I’d learned her secret or something. You’re right about that crazy hair though.” Draco chuckled while pushing his sweat soaked strands off his forehead.

“That’s it? One time and you’re a goner? Lady Astoria’s been after you for years and you give her nary a passing glance, but some chit from Gryffindor - who may not be the princess, by the way - shoves a knife in your neck and you go all swoony-eyed?

“I am not swoony-eyed,” Draco protested.

“Whatever you say, Sir Swoony-eyed, now… en garde!”

* * *

The weeks that followed found Hermione embroiled in dragon training, while her odd encounter with the Slytherin Knight had quickly been shoved to the back of her mind. Crookshanks, easily two tons worth of fire-breathing fury and just as curious as his owner, had taken to following Hermione whenever she ventured beyond the safety of the mountain fortress. The adventurous maiden spent many an hour soaring through the sky atop her winged friend.

It was during an early morning flight that she once again encountered Sir Draco. Her eyes were closed in worship of the heated sky, her arms spread wide, when Crookshanks lurched his body in an unexpectedly acrobatic move, sending her body careening from the saddle. As Crookshanks rose further and further away into the sky as she plummeted toward the ground, Hermione’s voice was swallowed in a rush of wind.

Just as she prepared herself for certain demise, she jerked to a stop.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in the talons of a hippogriff. Specifically, Buckbeak. No sooner had a sigh of relief left her lips, then she found her body hurled into the atmosphere. Her scream easily broke through the tranquility of the sky this time; but Hermione needn’t have worried, for just as quickly, she was caught by the powerful feathered creature.

“All right there, Princess?” Draco chuckled.

Against her will, Hermione held tight around Sir Draco’s waist, her face buried in his back. She mumbled her answer into his shoulder. She felt his body shake in amusement beneath her and released her hold to administer a sharp slap to his stomach. It did little to deter his laughter.

Upon reaching solid ground, Hermione leapt from Buckbeak’s back and drew her blade. “Are you following me?”

Draco slid gracefully from his mount’s back, straightening his tunic as his feet met the ground. He challenged, “You flatter yourself.”

Still shaken from her fall, Hermione stood fast, the dagger quivering in her hands.

As Draco began to step forward, the earth shook behind her. The smell of smoke and brimstone filled the air; her stance never wavered.

Massive crimson wings and scales in a glittering array of scarlet, vermillion, and carmine filled the space behind her. One great reptilian eye of shining copper met twin irises of mercury, wide with apprehension. The smell of sulphur increased as the beast blew through his gaping nostrils before bending to sniff curiously at the fear-frozen knight.

After a resolute sniff from his inspector, Draco found himself engulfed in the slimy embrace of a forked tongue.

“Do you plan to eat him, or just give him thorough licking, Crooksie?” Hermione giggled.

Draco’s hissed, “This is not funny!”

Hermione continued to laugh as she stowed her dagger. “You must admit it’s a bit humorous.”

Draco growled. Hermione laughed louder, “All right, Crookshanks, leave the poor man alone.”

The dragon relented and turned his attention to the hippogriff. Buckbeak met Crookshanks’s gaze head-on, and after a playful snort from the dragon and an agreeing trill from the hippogriff, they both took wing to engage in a spirited aerial dance.

“I guess we’ll be waiting here,” Hermione sighed as she brushed by Draco to head toward the nearby creek. He, meanwhile, had yet to even blink after his encounter with the brimstone-and-brisket scented jaws of death. Hermione glanced back to find his position unchanged. “Well come on then. It’s not like he was actually going to eat you.”

Once Draco gathered his wits enough to move, he quickly joined Hermione, whose feet were submerged in the rushing creek as she brushed her fingers delicately along the petals of a flutterby bush.

“What does it smell like to you, Princess?” Draco asked as he took a seat by her on the bank.

Hermione stiffened. “Why do you call me that?”

“Since I don’t know your name, it seems as good as anything else.”

The splash of the creek and whisper of the breeze were the only sounds for a long moment. “Hermione. My name is Hermione.”

“Pleasure to officially make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Hermione dipped her head in acknowledgement as she returned to her pensive perusal of the delicate blossoms.

“Parchment. Parchment and neroli… it smells like my parents,” she finished quickly, swiping just below her eyes.

“Night-blooming jasmine… my mother.”

Hermione peaked at Draco. He wore a gentle smile as he gazed into nothing. With a soft shake of his head he met her eyes.

“So, Hermione… you have a _dragon_?”

* * *

They continued to meet in secret - Hermione under the guise of dragon training and specimen gathering, and Draco under that of reconnaissance.

The fiery princess debated Sir Draco in all matters political, social, economic, and intellectual. Her eyes shone in facets of umber and gold as she nattered away about this subject and that. His crystal eyes sparked with amusement and affection as she flitted about collecting a melange of prizes: dittany, asphodel, hellebore, lacewing flies, and flobberworms.

* * *

Draco watched as she turned over yet another leaf, flicking it away in frustration. She squealed in excitement after flipping the next one, holding her slimy treasure up for his consideration. He scrunched his face in disgust. “What do you do with those anyway?”

Hermione held the wriggling worm up to the light to inspect it fully. “They’re very useful in potion making.”

“Useful how? To make it more revolting?”

She clicked her tongue in reproach as she placed the flobberworm in a jar before returning to carefully move the litter of the forest floor.

“Where did you learn about potions?”

She paused, her face softened as she absently sifted through the debris. “My parents were healers.”

Draco nodded. “What happened to them?”

She drew in a sharp breath, “They’re dead...” That much Draco had gleaned. “...They were killed in a early Slytherin campaign.”

He sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.” His voice was barely a whisper above the breeze.

He did not look up as the sound of the leaves crunching resumed. The keen sting of guilt coursing through him was quieted by the warmth of her fingers on his chin, nudging his face upward; tears clung to her lashes as she took his face in her hands, gently brushing his cheeks with the pads of her fingers. Her eyes were wide and her expression solemn as she spoke, “Children should not be held accountable for the sins of their fathers.”

With a small smile she released his face and returned to her search. Draco swallowed roughly, clearing the emotion clogging his throat, as he felt his fondness for the spirited princess bloom into an unfamiliar, but intense emotion.

* * *

They lay side-by-side in a clearing, the billowing clouds floating serenely above them as the Crookshanks tumbled in and out of their gossamer depths. Buckbeak could be heard frolicking in the creek nearby, his trills of enjoyment an accompaniment to the symphony of the woods.

Draco found himself once more seeking the tranquil face of the beautiful princess; alight with wonder as she watched the ballet of power and strength in the cerulean heavens.

Sensing his gaze, Hermione met his hypnotic eyes. A blush stained her freckle-dusted cheeks and she bit nervously at her bottom lip. Draco's lips curled into an amused smirk. He lifted his hand to gently free her lip before he closed the distance between them.

The kiss was tender and slow. A patient meeting of lips and breath. He brushed calloused fingers over her velvet cheek and into her silken curls, while her delicate hands caressed his shoulders and found the downy hairs at his nape.

The moment - now indelibly etched in his memory - was literally and unceremoniously doused by his recalcitrant hippogriff as the unapologetic creature shook his feathers dry over the pair. Draco growled, but Hermione laughed. Buckbeak nudged Draco insistently.

Rising from the ground, Draco extended a hand to assist Hermione to her feet. He pulled her closer, his forehead meeting hers, eyes closed as he breathed her in: the sweet bouquet of earth, rain, and spice. “Can I see you tonight, Princess?”

She nodded, a shy smile gracing her face and her teeth once again abusing her lower lip. Draco plucked the poor lip free before bestowing it with a chaste kiss. Buckbeak squawked impatiently as he bumped the pair with his mighty head.

“All right, you bloody menace, I’m coming,” Draco groaned as he pulled away from Hermione, their hands connected until the last possible moment.

* * *

King Thomas raged. He was a man known for his ruthless cunning - but never his patience. Sir Greg had accosted Sir Draco the moment Buckbeak’s talon hit Slytherin soil. The king wanted control over Gryffindor, over The Realm... and he wanted it now.

Thomas’s eyes flashed an inhuman red, his features twisted and distorted by madness, consumed with the need for power. Draco stood fast against the barrage of fury, his mind working feverishly to compartmentalize the onslaught of emotions that warred within him; his obligation to his kingdom - his parents, his growing feelings for Princess Hermione, his deeper appreciation for The Realm and its gifts. He had no choice but to fight, if for no other reason than to try and save his family and hopefully protect the beguiling princess from King Thomas’s wrath.

* * *

“Where are you going?”

Hermione froze, schooling her features she turned slowly to find Charlie’s penetrating gaze. “It’s a lovely evening,” She shrugged, in what she hoped was unimpeachable nonchalance. “I fancy a walk in the forest.”

Charlie clapped his hands and nodded once. “Let’s go then,” he proclaimed, looking much too pleased with himself as he motioned for her to proceed him through the mountain fissure.

They walked in silence, Hermione fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves and Charlie smuggly savoring her discomfort. He needled, “Really is a lovely night.”

“Knight?” Hermione squeaked, she cleared her throat. “No one said anything about a knight,” she rushed.

Charlie murmured, “This ought to be good.”

“Hermione!” The shouts were muffled by the rustle of the forest, but still clear.

“Who might that be?” Charlie teased.

“Please, Charlie, please wait here,” she begged. Another shout broke through, this one more desperate. “If you trust me, you’ll wait.”

Charlie nodded in reluctant acquiescence. Hermione gave him a grateful smile and tore through the brush.

* * *

Draco’s pale locks stood practically on end from repeated mishandling by his fingers, his face etched in agony. When Hermione ran into his arms, his breath left in a huff of relief as he held her tight to his chest.

She pulled back only enough to look into his troubled eyes, her hands on his cheeks as she begged him to tell her what had him so unsettled. He shook his head sadly and with a kiss to her forehead pulled away.

“So that’s it then?” she cried.

“You don’t understand. This is the only way.”

“I understand that you’re being a coward!”

“I have no choice, Princess,” he hissed, turning his back to hide the anguish in this eyes.

“You're deceived, Sir Draco. We all have a choice.”

“Not as the last son of Malfoy from the land of Slytherin!”

She placed her hands on her hips as she pressed her lips into a tight line. “Then you've pledged your fealty to a fool!”

“A fool he may be, but he deals in power you know not of. Even with your dragons he will not be easily defeated.”

Hermione scoffed, “The power he holds has come at a cost greater than even he realizes.”

Draco’s eyes shot to hers in surprise. “What do you know?”

“I know that the magic exists all around us. It's in the air, the water… the very earth beneath our feet,” she breathed in awe. “To attempt to subdue it - to control it - as your king has… it will only destroy him.”

“What about you,” he challenged. “Do you not wield magic? Potions and dragons. The very mountains that surround your kingdom… all from magic!”

“We don't control the magic. We accept it as a gift, work in concert with it. There must be a balance. Why do you think the Gryffindorians toil so to cultivate the lands? We are stewards of this gift. To only take destroys not only the land, but that which binds us to it. The magic is the essence of the land, and we in turn are the essence of the magic.” She gestured to the surrounding forest, and for the first time, Draco felt he understood.

“Are you saying King Thomas has stolen the magic?”

“I’m saying that King Thomas has not only stolen, but corrupted the magic, and that the magic will take what it's rightfully owed to restore balance.”

“What am I to do then?” Draco pleaded.

Hermione smiled sadly, “Go. Fight for your kingdom. Fight for your family. But don’t fight for King Thomas. Save yourself and your kingdom.”

Draco straightened, his face resolute. “I will fight, Princess. I will fight for you. For us.”

He pulled her to him once more in a crushing embrace, this kiss one of passion and promises, a knight going forth to victory. Hermione only hoped it could be victory for them both as she watched him mount Buckbeak to return to Slytherin.

* * *

Draco banged his fist on the thick wooden door, the sound reverberating through the home in great, bellowing echoes while his friend’s harassed answer grew ever closer.

Theo threw open the door. “What can I do for you this fine evening, Sir Draco?”

“We’re being called to battle, but there is much you should know.”

Theo motioned for him to come in, shuffling his way into the sitting room.

“What are you wearing?” Draco wondered, staring at the furry swaths covering Theo’s feet.

Theo paused, following his friend’s bemused gaze, “Oh, these?” He wiggled his right foot, fluffing the fur. “They’re rabbit slippers. These stone floors might be charming, but they’re bloody cold.”

Draco shook his head to refocus his thoughts. “King Thomas demands a war.”

“That’s not news,” Theo dismissed, as he busied himself preparing drinks.

“He will destroy The Realm if we allow him to win.”

At this, Theo turned slowly, his brows furrowed deeply, “He’s already destroyed this kingdom. So he brings down Gryffindor as well. Our positions should remain unchanged,” he finished with a shrug as he turned to continue pouring.

Draco stomped toward Theo, wrenching the pitcher from his hand, the thick liquid slopping over their feet and against the stone. “Hey! Watch the slippers!”

“Piss on your bloody slippers! There is much you don’t know!” Draco turned, running his fingers through his thoroughly abused locks.

Theo reclined into a chaise, his eyebrows raised and arms wide in invitation of an explanation.

Draco collapsed into a chair opposite Theo, his head in his hands. After an audible breath, he said, “The king has stolen magic.”

“How exactly does one _steal_ magic? _”_

Draco slouched back in the chair rubbing his eyes. “The particulars of that are a bit unclear, but what is certain is that The Realm demands recompense.”

Theo shifted, planting his rabbit fur clad feet on the floor, elbows on his knees and eyes narrowed. “I suppose you learned all this from your little escapades into Gryffindor?” Draco’s eyes widened. “Yes, I know you’ve been sneaking off to galavant with your little Princess.”

“Look, Theo…” Theo held up his hand to stop him.

After a long moment, Theo’s face broke into smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t care about Gryffindor’s Princess. But I can’t let you save Slytherin and The Realm all by yourself.”

Draco visibly relaxed. “Thank you.” Then with a smirk and a quirk of his eyebrows, he queried, “How do you feel about a little treason?”

Reclining with his hands behind his head, Theo nodded. “Pretty favorable, I’d say.”

* * *

The dawn broke with unwavering certainty, the rose-gold light of morning illuminating the assemblage. The desolate expanse on which Slytherin and Gryffindor stood opposite was a far cry from the verdant pastures of times gone; it was a striking testament to King Thomas’s degradation of the land and its magic.

King Thomas paced impatiently before his ranks, his visage contorted in maniacal glee and his gnarled fingers writhing in anticipation of victory. The Gryffindor regiment stood at the ready; the rallying cry was heard far and wide through the kingdom and the citizens proudly took up arms in reply, and though their weapons were improvised their collective resolve was strong.

The stillness of the battlefield was broken as the Gryffindors parted. A diminutive figure made her way to the front lines, her umber eyes shining with righteous purpose. “I am Hermione, The Warrior Princess of Gryffindor. This is your last chance to stand down, King Thomas, or we will be forced to overtake you.”

King Thomas’s answering laugh did not ring with amusement or glee, but with ruinous intent. “You pitiful girl. You think you can defeat me?”

Thomas raised his staff, a terrible crackling of energy gathering at the tip in a sickening green glow; the sky became overcast as the clouds began to roil and swirl, lighting sparking within their depths.

The earth began to quiver and fracture beneath their feet. The Slytherin army became visibly anxious while the Gryffindors planted their feet, ready for battle. King Thomas stood as if oblivious to the changes in his troops or the environment, his focus remaining on the fierce warrior princess as he pulled back his staff, ready to release a curse.

The words had yet to form on his lips when a great beast burst from the sky. Its flaming red body glinted magnificently against the grey battlefield as it landed with remarkable grace before Gryffindor’s Princess. Hermione leapt upon the dragon’s back, and cried, “If battle is what you desire, _Your Majesty _, battle is what you shall have.”__

 

Thomas’s bitter cry of indignation was drowned out by the cacophony of voices that responded to Hermione’s declaration as the mighty dragon heaved itself into the sky and the Gryffindors surged forth to defend their home. Thomas shouted in vain for his troops to answer, but they remained steadfast in their refusal to fight against Gryffindor.

 

The Slytherin knights took to the sky on their hippogriffs as the earth continued to crumble beneath their feet; the Gryffindor forces seemed impervious to the ground’s upheaval. Above them all the dragons of Gryffindor swooped in and out of the chaos, each in turn inflicting its wrath on King Thomas.

 

Ron dove first. Pigwidgeon, his fierce copper beast, was the fastest of the lot, and left a burning ring around King Thomas. With a swipe of his staff, the king doused a portion of the flame and struck forward, attempting to take down the advancing forces and inflict punishment on his treasonous knights.

 

Harry was next to attack. His dragon, Hedwig, a strikingly iridescent scaled behemoth, plucked Thomas from the the ground almost playfully before dropping him into a swarm of Slytherin hippogriffs, both the riders and animals eager for a chance to exact punishment on the tyrannical ruler.

 

Thomas erupted from the herd as if carried by the air itself, his face losing its humanity with each passing second.

 

Charlie saw his opening to strike. Nudging MacFusty, his massive reptile, the duo plummeted toward the enraged king. The violet-eyed beast flew in swirling circles before swiping the quickly-degrading being with his spiked tail.

 

As King Thomas flailed through the air, he feebly attempted to shoot curses at anything in his line of sight. Hagrid and the impossibly large dragon, Norbert, dove nimbly toward the airborne overlord. Thomas’s scepter swung wildly as he tried in vain to grasp a foothold in the battle. Norbert deftly removed the scepter - and the attached arm - with a satisfying gulp. Thomas yowled, not in agony, but in frustration at the futility of his campaign.

 

It was then that Hermione and Crookshanks sped toward their goal. With a burst of scarlet flame and a great push from his snout, Crookshanks relegated Thomas into the depths of The Realm though a fissure in the earth; with a monumental shudder, the cleft sealed.

 

The silence on the battlefield lasted but a moment before shouts of glee rose up among the ranks of Slytherin and Gryffindor alike.

 

The Realm sang in glory at the demise of Thomas as the sky cleared, the sun shone with brilliant radiance, and the ground healed. By magic, lush shoots emerged, The Realm returning to its former splendor.

 

The Slytherin hippogriffs landed and immediately began to graze. The once opposing armies dropped their arms in favor of unity. In the tranquil sky above, five dragons circled.

 

Hermione nudged Crookshanks’s left wing and the great shining beast swooped down giving her a better view of the crowd. She easily spotted Draco’s white blond hair and prodded Crookshanks in his direction. The dragon surged forward with purpose and scooped Draco up with a gentle pluck of his talons, launching straight into the sky.

 

Crookshanks climbed higher and higher, faster and faster; Draco screamed while Hermione threw her head back in joyous laughter. When Crookshanks reached an impossible height above the ground… he released Draco. No sooner had he begun to freefall back to earth, Crookshanks swooped beneath the knight, depositing him right behind Hermione.

 

Draco grasped tight around Hermione’s middle, gasping for the breath that had been knocked from him on the rough landing. She glanced back, a mischievous smile on her face. “How fare thee, good sir knight?”

 

With a heaved sigh of relief, Sir Draco found his voice. “I fare well, milady. Now tell me, what are your plans now that you’ve captured me?”

 

He felt more than heard her hum of consideration. “What say you to an adventure?”

 

Sir Draco loosed a spirited laugh. “Lead on, my fair lady, lead on!”

 

With a great roar and plume of flame, Crookshanks pumped his great crimson wings and soared higher into the sky and onward toward adventure and… to happily ever after.”

 

 

 

**_The End._ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Your reviews and kudos are most welcome and doubly appreciated. Once again, many thanks to my beta's, and to Kyonomiko and InDreams for putting this fest together.


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